Have You Heard, Did you know?
by Fabius Maximus
Summary: A fallen heroine, in a moment of despair, made a wish at a terrible price, changing the entire universe from its very beginning. Nobody knows about her, nobody remembers her. But some things cannot remain forgotten...
1. Chapter 1

_Have you seen what they said on the news today_

_Have you heard what they said about us all_

_Do you know what is happening to just every one of us_

_Have you heard, have you heard?_

_There will be a catastrophe the like we've never seen_

_There will be something that will light the sky_

_That the world as we know it, it will never be the same_

_Did you know, did you know?_

Where the Wild Wind Blows (Iron Maiden)

Paris was burning as Marinette looked down upon it from her old place on the Eiffel Tower. She'd not been here since that last time with Adrien.

She hadn't known he was Adrien back then. She hadn't known at all, not until he'd tried to take her Miraculous. Plagg had warned her and she had stopped him. Taken his Miraculous. Left Adrien there, desperate to use the power of a wish to bring his mother back.

She hadn't let him. It wasn't right—not to exchange another life for his mother's, another family sacrificed no matter how much she wanted to end his own pain. So she had turned her back on him, Plagg by her side and left him on the Paris roof, unaware of what would happen.

What _had _happened.

She looked down over the neighborhoods, some shrouded in smoke, some afire. Her home, the school, both gone, burning away, smoke and ash rising on the morning air. Her parents were gone to ash, along with her home. The roads where she'd walked, crowded with angry mobs, burning cars, shouts rising into the air. She looked up as a formation of jets rocketed overhead, maybe heading to the borders.

_All because of us._ She whispered, "Spots off" and then was revealed. Just Marinette. If someone saw her, saw her transform they would…

Not have enough time to stop her. She reached up and took her earrings off. She'd forbidden Tikki from speaking. Not because she didn't want to say goodbye, but because she was afraid that the kwami might dissuade her. Her other hand held a black ring.

Plagg hadn't spoken for days. Hadn't spoken very much since that terrible night. He'd been angry—and heartbroken, and it had only gotten worse, as they realized how very far Adrien had fallen.

_If only…_

The thought vanished on the ashy wind. Useless.

Just one thing to do now. Marinette held up the two miraculouses, and started to say the words that could command their power, that would make a wish.

Her throat hurt as she said the words. It wasn't just an old language, it was the _First_ language, Tikki had told her. Older than the kwami, who after all were only as old as the universe. _This_ language had been the one used to speak the universe into being.

She spoke the words. Once, twice, three times. Three times to let the Powers know that she was serious. Three times, each time harder than the last, the universe asking her if she was sure. If she was _very_ sure.

Blood burst from her mouth, even as the sounds of the world around her faded away. Her form started to blaze with…

Calling it light was inadequate. The blaze seemed to cut through everything else, more _real_ than mere matter and energy. And contrasting with the light, Marinette's shadow fell behind her, great and terrible. She held up her hands, and then saw the Powers that now regarded her.

Marinette wanted to die, to crawl away, to close her eyes against the regard of those beings. Not evil. Evil would have been less terrifying than the virtue and glory that looked down upon her.

But she had to say her last request, and so, desperately, thinking of her friends, Alya (poor Alya, she had never deserved what had happened to her), all the terror, all the people, good and evil, and yes, even Adrien, even if she couldn't grant him absolution. That was one thing she _knew_ looking upon the power before her. One thing it could not change was a man's choice and Adrien had made his.

She gasped out her request for pardon and redemption for man and felt it take her. But there was one last thing to do. The price.

_Let it fall upon me. Let it **only** fall upon me…_ she thought, and then a great wind took her and whirled her away.

And simultaneously, the world changed. Or rather, the world had _always been_ as Marinette's wish made it.

But not _only_ as her wish had made it…


	2. Museums and Meetings

"Adrien!" Nino said. "How did the photo shoot go?"

The blond shook his head as he joined the class at the front of the museum. "Boring. The photographer could never make up his mind…"

"Better than us," Alya told him. "And I wonder if you paid the photographer. You missed three days of boring lectures and got back just in time for a field trip."

Adrien laughed. "I have to make those days up, or my parents will restrict me." The fifteen-year-old gestured at the school. "Remember, if I fall behind, I have to choose between school and modeling, and you know what Father will say."

"Yeah," Nino said. _Everyone_ knew what Gabriel would say.

"I—" Adrien started to say something, then blinked. A janitor was busily sweeping away on the pavement in front of them, not noticing a little electric delivery cart heading for him, the driver distracted by some pretty college students.

Adrien _ran_ as fast as he could, not even thinking to shout, desperately shoving the man out of the way of the cart…

Which stopped well short of where they would have been had he not_ almost _knocked the man out.

Adrien stared at that, and felt his face slowly turn red. He looked down at the janitor, getting ready to get yelled out. "I'm sorr—I thought they weren't going to stop—"

"Sorry?" The janitor's eyes were wide. "Son, if he hadn't stopped and you'd just stood there, I'd be a bit more than 'sorry'. Never apologize for trying to help."

Adrien got up, and shook his head. He still felt stupid.

"So, what's your name?" The janitor asked.

"Adrien?"

"Well, Adrien, I hope you enjoy your museum trip," he smiled. "The past can be a good way to chart the future, after all."

"I , what's your name?"

"Jake. But… a few friends have other names for me. Mr. Sunshine is one I'm partial to."

"Thanks, Jake!"Adrien saw the class moving into the museum, "I've gotta go!"

"Then go well, Adrien Agreste." Jake smiled, a sense of stillness about him. "Go very well."

It wasn't until Adrien had joined up with the rest of the class that he remembered he hadn't _said_ his last name.

* * *

"Hi peeps! This is Alya with my museum blog!" Alya said as she panned her camera over the museum. Alya loved her blogs. She knew that Chloe sometimes said she was full of herself, and sometimes Chloe was right, but it _thrilled_ her when she saw that someone living in Texas or Japan was following her, seeing things about her city that they might never have discovered otherwise. Alya didn't focus on the big stuff—she liked showing them the little stuff.

And was especially neat since she had permission to do this on school field trips, so long as she only showed students whose parents had signed release forms on her blog. Most of them did—Alya was careful with her blogs and had even been mentioned in the New York Times.

She kept that article on her wall.

"So, what's it this time?A blog about arrowheads? Or paintings?" Chloe asked, Sabrina standing by her. The daughter of a hotel chain owner flipped a hand. "If you're asking me, you could do a lot—"

"It's about the Ghost of Paris," Alya said.

Chloe fell silent for a moment. "Her?"

"Who?" Julekaasked.

The two girls looked over at their classmate. Juleka brushed her hair back, face uncomprehending.

"It's an old legend," Alya told her. "You moved here, so it's not surprising you don't know about it. Supposedly, the Ghost of Paris has been watching over the city forever…"

She gestured at the small gallery they were heading for. "And just last month, they found something new."

Juleka stood, staring at the gallery, the paintings—here a small child in a red and black top, there a sketch of a silhouette of a standing young woman against the moon rising over a building in Paris. They were from all eras, old oil paints competing with digital paintings.

And in front was a statue, behind plexiglass, age having long ago effaced any features on its were odd mottlings on the head and body, one of the figure's arms broken off, the other still intact, hand out stretched with the palm up and facing the viewer.

"They put offerings into the hands," Alya said. "When I was finishing up my blog I found some information—the head was colored blue and the body…"

"Black and red?" Chloe asked.

"Yeah." Alya finished filming. "I mean, this statue came from the Parisii tribe—they were some of the earliest groups to live here…and from what the archaeologists said, the fact that the statue is so detailed means that it was probably old even before then, and the cult likely predated permanent habitation of the region."She shook her head. "And it endured—the Roman's considered the genius spirit of the city to be associated with black, red and ladybugs, and it _also_ had blue hair."

Chloe blue a stray lock of hair out of her face. "So?"

"So when was the last time you saw someone worshiping Jupiter?"Alya looked over at her friend."Why isn't she forgotten like all the other ancient gods? Why has their always _been_ a Ghost for as long—even before—there was a Paris? Why do people keep _seeing_ her?"

"Because people see things," Chloe responded.

"Not my grandfather," Sabrina said softly. "He was with the Resistance in Paris and he said that the Ghost saved him from the Nazi's."

Chloe opened her mouth to say something cutting, then closed it. Sabrina's grandfather had died a few months before, and the red head still wasn't over it. Then they heard the sound of Ms. Bustier calling the class over to the presentation they were supposed to listen to.

"Well, she won't be the only ghost around here if we're late." Chloe gestured for Sabrina to follow her and swept off.

"Spooky," Juleka said as she trailed behind them.

"Yeah," Alya said. Turning, she walked after the others, before she paused for one last look at the gallery. The rest of the lights were dim, save for the one beaming down onto the ancient statue, and even though it was featureless, Alya couldn't shake the feeling that it was longingly looking at her. A cool breeze ran through the building, some artifact of the air conditioning, and Alya shivered as she left to join the class.

* * *

AN: Mr. Sunshine does come from another series as a bit of a shout out, but this isn't a crossover. I'll mention the series at the piont when his identity becomes plain.


	3. Dreams of Fear

Alya ran. There was smoke around her, buildings burning, but not many firefighters.

_Where are the firefighters?_ She wondered. But that didn't matter, not in face of the terror she felt. She kept trying to grab something around her neck, something important, but it was gone.

Alya didn't know what it was, but there were flickers, images in her mind, her running across the rooftops, acting like some kind of super hero, then giving…

Something up.

Because she was being hunted.

Alya didn't know by what or who, but she had to run. Her parents were gone, her family gone. She knew that.

"How do I know that?" she said between gasping for air. "Where did—"

"There she is! The girl with the Ladyblog!" The sound that responded to the cry wasn't so much human as it was a pack of hounds, baying after a scent. Desperation lent her speed, and she tried to outrun the people behind her.

She failed. A chunk of rock caught her by the foot, and Alya went sprawling, her glasses flying off. Before she could get up, they were on her. A booted foot smashed into her side, another stomped down on her fingers.

She screamed.

"Wait!" One said. "Don't hurt her…"

_Maybe he'll help—_

"At least not so badly she can't talk…" They hauled her up, and Alya was so terrified that she couldn't even stand, just hanging between the burly men holding her. She thought she _recognized_ some of the crowd.

And in front of them, a smiling man holding a knife. He flicked the knife and Alya screamed as the cut was opened up along her cheek, blood starting to drip down it.

"But we can do a _lot_ that lets you still talk, girl… so tell me…" Then something hungry and horrifying came into his expression. "Tell me how we can lay claim to a _wish…"_

* * *

"Ah!" Alya started awake in her room, the sound of her cry echoing in the silent air. She paused for a few moments, then nodded. Her parents hadn't heard it, nor had her sisters. The computer in front of her was still on, the monitor showing her half-finished article about the Ghost of Paris.

"Too many ghost stories, girl," Alya said to herself. "Maybe you should stick with food—ah!" she flinched at at the stinging sensation on her cheek. She touched it, brought her fingers back in front of her.

There was blood on them.

_From my chee—_Alya practically flew to the bathroom, to stare at herself.

The scratch wasn't anything serious, the bleeding already slowing. A little disinfectant would take care of it.

But she hadn't had it before she had drifted off.

And it was in the _exact_ place where she'd dreamed of being cut.

Alya turned off the computer and got into bed. She could finish up the blog entry tomorrow.

But she didn't sleep for a long, long time.


	4. The Sacrificed Girl

The next day, Alya had a hard time staying awake. Ms. Bustier was handing out a quiz on the museum trip, but she found herself unable to think of anything other than the dream.

_Where was I? Who were those people?_

It hadn't been like most of her dreams. If anything, it felt _real_ with none of fuzziness she normally associated with dreams.

And it certainly hadn't been her dating a cute guy or getting her first Pulitzer.

It was—

"Augh!" Chloe said as she sat down next to Alya. Alya tried not to start, but then blinked as she looked at the blond. Chloe was always stylish and sometimes could be bitchy but right now she looked…

_Terrible_. Her makeup was sloppy (and that _never_ happened with Chloe), her eyes looked shadowed… She looked like she'd just crawled out from bed.

"What happened to you?" Alya asked.

"Dreams." Chloe rubbed her eyes. "Weird dreams."

"What?" Alya said softly. "What type of dreams?"

"I was in my suite at the Grand Hotel."

"The _what?_" Chloe didn't have a suite, none of her father's properties were named the _Grand_ hotel.

"Yeah. Everything was gold. It was great but…" she shivered. "_Soulless. _And father was off doing Mayor things, because he was the mayor._"_

"Wow." Alya tilted her head. "Dreaming big, much?"

"Mom was there." Chloe's voice was flat, and Alya winced. Chloe's mother had left when she was little, some sort of blow up or lover who she'd dropped her father for. She showed up now and then, but things were always strained.

"Mom was there," Chloe said. "Telling me how I'd never measure up, even if I had…" She shook her head.

"Had what?"

"I don't know. It was important, the most important thing, ever, but I can't remember it." She looked frustrated. "And then…" Chloe put her arms around her body, hugging herself and suddenly she was trembling.

"Then?"

"Everything was on fire. The hotel was blown up, and Father… he was pulling me, telling me that we had to run that they knew I had… _It._ I told Sabrina that nobody would believe that I didn't have it any more, and they'd do…"

"What?"

Suddenly Chloe turned pale. "Nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Chloe, I'm the reporter."

Chloe turned to Alya. "They'd do to me what they did to you." She bit her lip. "I don't know what, I can't remember everything, but I know it was terrible…"

_That mob. And I thought I had something, but I couldn't remember it either…_ Alya shuddered. _Two dreams, both alike? It has to be a coincidence. _

"Did the dream seem like an ordinary dream?" she finally asked.

"No." Chloe closed her eyes. "It felt… _real_. Like a real memory. Just not one… I've ever had."

Alya was about to say something else, when Ms. Bustier called the class to attention.

She probably failed the quiz.

_It felt real. Just like my dream…_

* * *

Adrien had always enjoyed working as a model. Not just that, he did work with mother on organizing the company. She and his father both assumed that one day Adrien would move in, at least partially, to the leadership and kept Adrien in the loop.

It was one of the few cases where Emelie and Gabriel had disagreed, when Adrien had asked to go to school, his mother saying that he could associate with them after school and Gabriel, surprisingly, backing Adrien up.

"He can _learn_ everything he needs with tutors, except what it is to _not_ be the center of attention," his father said in his normal, quiet voice.

Mother had blinked, then nodded, though she'd warned Adrien that she would be monitoring his academic progress.

Not that it was hard to keep up. Adrien had always been good at academic work, and he found himself doing _better_ with a class of students around him.

But today he had a hard time keeping focused on his studies.

_"Enjoy your victory, Milady! They'll fall upon each other like wolves!" _

A memory. His voice, only… hateful, dripping with malice. And who was Milady? He felt he should know her, but…

Adrien shook his head as he walked past the empty seat. It'd been empty when he started class and it was _always_ empty. Sort of a tradition.

But everyone seemed a little…

Tense. Rose and Juleka were being a little more clingy than usual, and Nino was just staring off into space.

"What's with everyone?"

"Dreams," Alya said. "Didn't you have any?"

"I… Don't remember a lot of my dreams."

"Lucky you," Nino said.

"Yeah," Chloe said.

Adrien didn't correct them. He _hadn't_ remembered most of his dream. Except for the sheer _hateful_ joy he'd heard in his words…

And a girl's quiet… _weeping?_

_"_I'm going back to the museum after school. We've got the weekend, so it's not like I have to be anywhere," Alya said. "Wanna come with me?"

"Why?" Chloe said, tossing her head in a dismissive gesture. "I was thinking of just getting some sleeping pills for tonight."

"As if your father will let you do _that," _Nino said.

"C'mon, I need more stuff for the Ghost of Paris and I want to see if I can talk to someone."

"To see if other people have dreams?" Adrien asked quietly.

Everyone fell silent.

Chloe giggled, trying to sound amused. She didn't carry it off.

"I mean, not really… sort of?" Alya shook her head. "I mean, she's the _Ghost_ of Paris, and some of the stories are spooky… but the exhibit was mainly for tourists and kids…"

"I'll go," Juleka said.

"Bad dreams as well?" Alya said, giggling, but Juleka stared at her, the quiet goth's gaze unnerving.

"Yeah. I saw you," she said. "You were dead."

"What?" Alya asked. "You dream about me being dead?" She hugged herself. Then in a lower voice. "My dream was someone was chasing me, and then they caught me. They wanted to know about…" Alya looked frustrated. "Something."

"About…" Rose shook her head. "We had the same dream, how is that even possible? But you were…" She grabbed Juleka's arm and put her face against the taller girl. "Never mind, It was you, I could tell from your glasses and hair."

Adrien blinked. _How would you need to see her glasses to know who she was?_

"Great," Chloe said. "We'll all go to the museum when we should go to see a shrink. How do you know it has anything to do with the Ghost?"

For a moment, Alya looked annoyed, then shook her head. "I… Don't know, but I feel like I should go to the museum, that there's…

"More." Adrien looked at her. "I want to go as well."

"Well, we have a date, then," Nino said with a grin that only looked half-fake. "It'll be fun!" And with that, the conversation ended as the teacher entered the class.

* * *

When they got to the museum, Adrien frowned. There was so much that seemed… off. Why should there be an Egyptian exhibit where they had 18th Century art? Why did he remember _running_ through the hallways? His mother would murder him and his father murder him _twice_. And yet… He remembered… _freedom._

Adrien shook his head as they walked to the exhibit. Alyx had invited herself along, telling them that her father could do more for them than the typical attendants.

Adrien wasn't certain. Her father hadn't always seemed that friendly, although to be fair, it was more due to most kids not really liking history, but…

"Ah, Alyx, you asked me for some help?" He said as they met him by the exhibit.

"Yeah, Dad, Alya wanted to know more about the Ghost."

"Well, it's nice that young people are becoming interested in the past, even if it's… the more fantastical version of that past."

"Yeah," Alya said. "Mr. Kubdel, I was wondering—I mean, there are the legends of her appearance, but is there anything more? Because it seems… Candy coated."

"Oh?"

"You know, a heroine saving Paris, but nothing bad happens…" _Nothing like the vision of a city in flames or me dead…_

"Ah." Mr. Kubdel paused. "We have some other artifacts, but none of them were considered appropriate for the main exhibit. But if you wish, I could call your parents and get their permission." He gestured. "But if they're not available, then I can't show it to you—Museum regulations."

Alya nodded, and within a few moments she, Adrien and Chloe's parents had given permission.

Rose shook her head. "I don't want to see it," she said. She was actually shivering.

"We can get some hot chocolate at the cafeteria," Juleka said. "I don't really want to see it either."

"Very good," Mr. Kubdel said. "If the rest will follow me… Tell me, have you ever heard of Pieter Bruegel the Elder and the _Triumph of Death?_"

Alya shook her head, but Adrien nodded. "Yes."

"Well, some of the paintings and artifacts here… Let's say they are equally disturbing."

With that, he opened a door and the rest walked in.

Adrien would forever more regret his curiosity. The gallery in front had been gentle drawings of children with bad dreams, hopeful dreamers, men and women who supposedly had seen the Ghost.

But here were the childish scribblings of the madmen, and artifacts from a darker vision.

"This, we believe was a sacrificial alter," Mr. Kubdel told them. You can see it's size—the head was broken off, possibly by the Romans, and this cult was banned by the Empire."

"Why?" Adrien asked.

"Look at the chest," Mr. Kubdel said. "The gap was for the heart of a child."

"Yuck," Nino said.

"And here we have some artwork, as I said, inspired by, well, look at it." On it was a girl, shielding a family from a group of skeletal warriors. The family was terrified, save for one man who was smirking, but the girl—she was naked, her ribs visible, blood running down her body as the skeletons beat her with whips.

There were others. A man sleeping in the forest, but around him terrible, spectral wolves stalked, being fought by the slim figure of a girl, her flesh marked by terrible bites.

It was… horrifying in a way.

"The children's tale is of a hero saving the day, helping girls find their lost pets…" Kubdel said. "But the deeper meaning—the deeper tale, is of someone being sacrificed, again and again, for the salvation of those who do not even know her name—or mayhap, do not _deserve_ her aid."

"Do you believe it?" Alya finally asked.

"I…" He frowned. "History is about separating fact from fiction, and you could fill this entire building with all the tales of ghosts, phantoms, heroes and villains…" He chuckled. "Most of them false, or rather the product of belief and nothing else, but…" Now he looked serious. "The legend of the Ghost is so oddly consistent. Arguably _more_ consistent than any other religion or belief I have heard of. It predates both Islam and Christianity, and its roots… It may very well predate even Judaism, though we can't be certain about that, and yet… From what we can see, while people might vary in their approach, the core has remained the same." He looked at one of the sketch, the ghost trying, unsuccessfully, to shield a Resistance fighter from a firing squad—the artist had someone captured the idea of the bullets passing through a spectral form, yet still doing damage. "But if you were say, teleported back to the first century AD? Christianity would be unrecognizable to you. Even a few hundred years would make it vastly different." He paused, lost in his thoughts, then shook his head and looked down at the teens. "So, I can't say I believe. But I cannot say I don't." He checked his watch. "And on that unsatisfying note, I'm afraid we'll have to leave."

Adrien nodded. Leaving this place was didn't bother him at all. He stared at one painting, the placard mentioning it had been painted during the Black Death. A girl, her bluish hair faded, fighting a horde of rats, her skin flensed from where the had bitten her, and where they hadn't, swollen and black with the plague. She stared out at him, her gaze at once determined and beseeching.

No, Adrien didn't mind leaving this place _at all._


End file.
